


Brad's Medal Ceremony

by Kahtya Sofia (KahtyaSofia)



Series: Generation Kill / West Wing Crossover Humor!Fic [2]
Category: Generation Kill, West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-21
Updated: 2009-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KahtyaSofia/pseuds/Kahtya%20Sofia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad's medal ceremony, mentioned in the comment fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brad's Medal Ceremony

Nate stood in the very back of the room and watched as Brad and the rest of his team were called to the low stage. He clutched his portfolio to his chest with a white-knuckled grip. The Commandant of the Marine Corps, James Conway, announced their full company designation and the medal they were receiving; The Navy Presidential Unit Citation.

As one, the four Marines stood from their chairs, each executed a one-quarter turn and walked sharply to the stage. With Brad in the lead, they mounted the short stairs and came to stand at full attention facing the audience.

Nate’s chest was ready to burst with pride. Not just pride in Brad, but in the entire unit; the entire Corps. They were the best of the best and he’d served with them and he loved them still.

Admiral Percy Fitzwallace, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, came to stand beside President Bartlett and read the summary of events that lead to the awarding the medal to Brad and his men. Secretary of the Navy, Donald Winter, stood ready to hand the Citations to the President.

Nate knew the details and he preferred not to dwell on them. Brad had come closer to death that night than he had since the bridge at Muwaffaqiyah. Only this time Nate hadn’t been there to unfuck the situation. Brad’s own combat experience and leadership skills had meant the difference between a Presidential Citation and a flag-draped coffin.

He still couldn’t get over how amazing Brad looked in his Class A uniform. The cut of the coat emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His height made the blood stripe on the side of his trousers seem endless.

Brad’s expression was placid but Nate knew that on inside he was bored and annoyed and couldn’t wait for this entire thing to be over with. Although the ceremony was the worst part for Brad, it was the dinner following the ceremony that had Nate on edge. He wished they’d held an afternoon ceremony. Then, Brad could have worn his Service Uniform instead of the Dress Uniform and Nate wouldn’t have had to change his own suit.

A movement in front of the stage caught Nate’s eye and he saw Nancy McNally lean over and whisper something to Secretary of Defense Miles Hutchinson. Nate was proud that all of these powerful and influential people were here to see Brad decorated for his bravery and accomplishment. He suppressed a smile at what _Brad’s_ thoughts about all of these people were. He could just hear the sarcasm and disdain drip from every word.

Nate looked over in surprise as Leo McGarry came to stand beside him. He smiled and nodded, hiding his reaction to Leo seeking him out for informal conversation.

“I just wanted to say ‘thank you’.” Leo whispered.

“For what?” Nate’s confusion doubled.

“For him.” Leo answered, inclining his head toward the stage where Brad was now standing rigidly in front of the President he’d been smoking cigars with earlier that day.

Brad’s salute was sharp and precise, like Brad himself. He watched Brad nod and shake President Bartlett’s hand.

“Thank you for your service and congratulations,” Nate heard the President say as he clasped Brad’s hand.

“Thank you, Mr. President.” Brad said in response, then stepped past to allow the next Marine to receive his medal.

“I had nothing to do with this,” Nate said honestly. “I didn’t even know about Brad’s involvement until the awards were announced.”

“You led him into battle and brought him home safely so he could lead this team into hell and bring _them_ back alive.” Leo replied.

“Which he did all on his own.” Nate said with a shake of his head, overwhelmed with the significance of Brad’s accomplishment.

“If you think his leadership style isn’t directly influenced by yours,” Leo said. “Then you are willfully ignorant, Nate.” Leo paused to give Nate a hard look. “And we _all_ know you’re not ignorant.”

“No, sir,” Nate said, realizing for the first time that he might have some sort of impact on the world of Brad Colbert. He felt stunned.

Leo was laughing softly beside him, shaking his head ruefully. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were disingenuous.”

“Sir?” It occurred to Nate that Leo thought he was selling himself short when really, Leo just didn’t know how self-contained and self-reliant Brad was.

Leo clapped him on the shoulder. “Let the work go for tonight,” he said. “Enjoy dinner with your Marine and encourage him to bask in his own glory for once.”

Okay, maybe Leo _did_ know Brad.

“Yes, sir.” Nate replied as Leo moved off through the crowd.

When the ceremony concluded, Nate met Brad just outside the door so they could walk to dinner together.

“Congratulations, Sergeant,” Nate couldn’t help the wide smile on his face. He was so fucking proud of Brad.

“Thank you, sir.” Brad said briskly, handing Nate the velvet covered box that held the ornamental medal. The President had pinned the ribbon to Brad’s uniform.

Nate tried to hand the box back as he turned to follow Brad, moving with the crowd toward the ballroom. “You should hang on to this, people are going to want to look at it.”

“Then you should be the one to show it to them.” Brad replied enigmatically.

“It’s your medal, Brad,” Nate argued. “You earned it.”

“You deserve it as much, if not more, than I do.” Nate noticed that Brad was looking straight ahead, intentionally not looking in his direction.

“I wasn’t at the Battle of Ghazni.” Nate said dryly.

“In a way, sir, you were.” Brad’s tone was deceptively light. Nate knew that tone. Brad used it when he made his most emphatic points. “When the shit was the deepest and we didn’t think we’d get out alive, let alone accomplish our mission, one thing kept going through my head. It’s what helped me keep it together and get my men the fuck out of there safely.”

“And that was?” Nate asked, openly curious.

Brad finally turned toward him, impaling Nate with his gaze. “What would Nate do?”

Nate stopped breathing.

“I just did what I thought you would do in my situation.” Brad turned to look straight ahead again and Nate started to breathe. “That’s twice you’ve saved my ass in an ambush, so thank you.”

*~*

Nate sank down into the chair he’d occupied at dinner. He’d been ready to leave more than an hour ago but Brad seemed to be holding court across the room. Nate would have thought Brad would have been trying to leave right after they finished eating.

Instead, Brad had staked out a space for himself and was letting crowds ebb and flow around him. Nate had been nervous until Percy Fitzwallace had laughed for the second time. He could only imagine what Brad might have said to make the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs belly laugh.

When Nancy McNulty had left the cluster of admirers, Nate was less than surprised by the rather smitten expression she wore.

For the umpteenth time that night, Nate carefully opened the velvet box on the table in front of him. Brad’s medal was still safely nestled inside. Nate stared at it reverently.

“Is that it?” Nate glanced up at the softly asked question and saw Margaret slide into the chair next to him.

“His medal?” he asked. At her nod, Nate answered, “Yes.”

“May I?” Margaret asked, almost shyly, gesturing at the velvet box.

“Of course,” he replied with a smile, turning the box for her to get a clear look at the metal and ribbon inside.

“I sometimes get to see these before they’re awarded,” Margaret said, conspiratorially. “But they seem so much brighter, more significant, once they belong to someone.”

“Do they?” Nate pondered.

“You must be so proud of him,” Margaret enthused, an earnest expression on her face.

“I’m always proud of him,” Nate confirmed, “but yeah, even more so today.”

“Well, tell him congratulations when he gets free of his adoring fans,” she patted Nate’s arm and disappeared into the crowd.

Nate rubbed his tired eyes with this thumb and forefinger.

“Hey, kid, mind if I join you?” a sardonic voice asked from beside him.

Nate opened his eyes to find Deborah Fiderer slipping tiredly into the chair on his other side.

“Not at all,” Nate said honestly. “Have you had the opportunity to meet Sgt. Colbert?”

“Very briefly before I was elbowed out of the way by several giggling female interns,” Deborah replied dryly. “That’s some biting wit, that one has.”

“Yes,” Nate agreed with trepidation, “he didn’t say anything inappropriate, did he?”

“Oh, my word, no,” Deborah reassured. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of his sarcasm or disapproval.”

“No, you don’t,” Nate laughed. “Although, sometimes his compound sentences are works of art.”

“Yeah, heard a couple of those. Impressive.”

“I hope you’re not a jealous man, Nate,” his head swiveled around as Abbey Bartlett sat gracefully in Margaret’s vacated chair.

Nate started to stand but Mrs. Bartlett motioned him to stay seated. “I’m sorry, ma’am?”

“Every female staffer and intern under the age of twenty-five, and a few that are embarrassingly over, are gathered around your Marine, hanging on his every word,” the First Lady explained. “I’d hate for you to have to cause bodily harm to the more touchy-feely of them.”

“Sgt. Colbert is not ‘my Marine’,” Nate protested, yet again, “and when he’s had enough he’ll extricate himself without any help from me.”

Mrs. Bartlett’s mouth twisted in a wry smile and she glanced pointedly at Deborah.

“I’d heard he was denying it but I didn’t believe it until I heard it,” she said to the First Lady. “He _is_ cute when he’s playing innocent, though.”

“Easy to see what his Marine sees in him,” Mrs. Bartlett replied.

Nate fell back against his chair in surrender. He might as well admit that he wasn’t fooling anyone but himself. “Are you telling me I need to go assist my Marine with an emergency evac or risk him going MIA?”

Before either woman could answer, Brad’s voice could be heard approaching their table. “I appreciate the offer but every free moment is already promised,” he placed his hands on the back of Nate’s chair and leaned on them, “to my White House staffer.”

Nate tilted his head up to look at Brad and couldn’t help but smile.

“Ready to go, Mr. Fick?” Brad asked.

“Ready if you are, Sgt. Colbert,” Nate answered.


End file.
